My Precious Boy
by Sasukeluva 4eva
Summary: Hold me close, and don't ever let me go. /BirthdayFic! for Itachi-kun!/ Please Read & Review!


**a/n: IT'S TACHI-KUN'S BIRTHDAY OMFG ASDJKFL! THIS IS FOR YOU, MY BOOTIFUL, PRECIOUS BABY!**

**Disclaimer: IDNON, BIDHTOS.. AI!**

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_**Summary:**__ Hold me close, and don't ever let me go. _

**Categories: **Family

**Rating: **K

**Characters:** Itachi x Fugaku

**Title:** _**My Precious Boy**_

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Growing up is always an inevitable part of life.

_He_ had grown up, from something so juvenile and unsuspecting, into a man so caustic and cold, that sometimes even _he_ could not fathom his descent into indifference.

He had grown up, and left the blissful cocoon of ignorance that was his sheltered upbringing well behind him.

Nothing of his once innocent disposition was left, beaten black and blue from his body until he was left a shell of what he once was.

He swore to himself after enduring the torturous disciplinary exercises that he would _never_ lift his hand against his own children; would _never_ seek to leave unforgiving blemishes and scars to mar their soft complexions or mentalities upon them.

He would _never_ let them go, like his own parents had done so to him, so many years ago.

He would anchor them within the security blanket of his love, and would wrap it around them for as long as he possibly could.

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It was in his twenty-second year of living in his realm of disheartenment, he mused quietly, that he fell in love with a woman so pure of heart, body and soul that he felt almost _nauseous_ from the intensity of the raw, relentless emotion.

He did not deserve her beauty or grace, her kindness or her compassion, but she gave it to him in droves, without hesitation, her eyes always filled to the very brim with the extent of her affections.

And not even three years into their marriage, was the light of his life brought into the world, _his_ world, and he found fulfilment in himself at long last.

Most people took great offence to the name in which he bequeathed his son with, calling it a cruel circumstance adopted by a man whose upbringing epitomised the claim, but he thought nothing of their conjectures.

Weasels may be renowned for their cunning and often evil-thought nature, but Fugaku named his boy after the positives of their personality.

Their modest and gentle disposition, their endless loyalty to their loved ones, their mild-mannered temperament.

And as he held his newborn child in the steely cradle of his arms tender embrace, a sense of finality filled him.

Content to rock the infant in his body's makeshift cot, Fugaku thought that yes, his son was truly a little weasel, for once they had found complacency in themselves and those around them, they clung onto these extensions with a fierce devotion that could never be embittered by rage or contempt.

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Fugaku strode into the entryway of his home, eyes hooded with a desperate need for sleep as he slipped out of his standard issue ninja sandals, bending over slowly whilst fighting off a wave of fatigue that had overtaken his near trembling frame.

His half-day shift had turned into three, and he had not had any opportunity to stop for even a moment in all of the seventy-two hours that he had been preoccupied for.

He hadn't been home since he had stepped out of the wooden threshold, and he was anxious to see his family.

Mikoto was heavily pregnant with their second child, and had been flying solo in taking care of all of the family affairs while he had been drowning in the mundane thrills of policing, and he was worried for her health.

She worked _far_ too hard for a heavily handicapped matriarch, and Itachi was at an age where he needed attention.

He was not a needy child, far from it, and often remained introverted and soft-spoken in order to avoid becoming a burden to either of his parents, but he was terribly lonely a lot of the time when Fugaku was away.

Itachi, although barely five years old, was the one caring for Mikoto while she was slumped over the toilet or kitchen sink, emptying the contents of her last meal into the vacant bowls whilst trying in vain not to collapse from the dizzy spells that had plagued her since she had first confirmed her pregnancy, and the Uchiha clan patriarch felt something brittle in his heart break apart at the epiphany.

He had promised not to leave the imprints of his own childhood upon him, but it seemed that he had gone back on that oath. He had wanted Itachi to have a normal upbringing, the opportunity to drown in his innocence and naivety, but already he was doing the jobs of an adult—all to selfless abandon.

He was so, so precious, and he would bend and bend and bend only so much before he finally broke at the breaches, and shattered under the weight of his misplaced loyalty.

Fugaku wished to avoid that as much as possible, and so he had made haste in finishing all of the Hokage's dirty work before hightailing it home, his dark eyes fixated on the warm orange glow filtering out through the doji's doors and windows of his anything but humble abode.

How he had yearned for the warmth of his family's love.

Which led him to where he was, kneeling in order to straighten his sandals against the raised ledge that led onto the walkway of his house's entrance, his shoulders sinking into his exhausted frame as he inhaled the welcoming scent of peppermint and springtime that he had come to associate with true happiness.

Finally, he was where he had ached to return to for so long!

Erecting his slouching posture into something akin to his usual regal standing, Fugaku made to walk onto the landing, only to halt mid-step when he noticed the crumpled heap of soft grey and beige sprawled over the mahogany planks of the floor's boarding.

An unsettlingly profound heat pooled in his stomach as his bleary gaze absorbed the small frame of his eldest son lying on his side, arms cradled precariously under the weight of his small head as he shifted in order to regain whatever comfort the cold, hard floor could give him.

His soft out-breaths sunk into the depths of his father's ears, bringing a tired but satisfied smile to his wearied expression.

His son had been anticipating his return, it seemed.

Eyes lukewarm from the intensity of his fatherly affections, Fugaku's instinctive need to seek refuge in his too-loyal little weasel's heat fuelled his desire to scoop his lightweight and somewhat frail body from the floor (he had grown up _too fast, too fast, too fast_, and it **terrified** him, for soon he would not be able to hold him in his arms anymore, like any loving parent yearns to do).

He did so with the efficiency of a trained ANBU Operative, sweeping him up in a tangle of arms and cotton before he held him to his chest, cradling him there like he had when he was just a newborn within the ironclad strength of his predecessors (_the ones that had beaten his power and resilience into him, the ones that had destroyed his childhood in order to cultivate Itachi's in its stead_), his eyes drinking in the peaceful features of his most valued "possession" like a man parched.

Something slipped from the folds of Itachi's clothing as Fugaku stepped onto the entryway, and he paused in order to pin his steely gaze to the floor upon which the object had flittered to a deadened stop upon.

A thin sheet of paper lay there, innocent as the babe in his arms as he adjusted his son's weight into his left arm whilst he knelt down to pick up the slightly crumpled leaflet, curiosity filling the ebony depths of his irises as his eyes scanned the note and its contents.

It read simply.

_** Welcome home, daddy. I missed you. Love, Itachi. Xxx**_

Fugaku felt a pull in his heart, and all of its scattered pieces reassembled with the healing power his precious little boy's words had had on his fraying nerves as a result.

He returned his almost teary gaze (he put it down to three days without any sleep, and a killer migraine that had yet to release its purchase on his frazzled brain) to the bundle of joy in his arms, his right cheek pressed flush into the contours of his chest and his countenance blissfully unaware of his transition from the floor to his father's careful embrace as he sunk into the very depths of inertia; his small hand coming to rest upon his tou-sama's stomach, fingers clasping the material and sinking into the inky depths of his yukata as he found equilibrium amidst the realm of dreaming he had come to lose himself in.

How long had he been waiting there, until he had fallen asleep so innocently?

Fugaku had no gauge on time, but he knew it was late.

Much too late for a boy of four to be sitting in the doorway to their home, waiting for a loved one who had forsaken them for work's sake, when he should have been tucked away in bed, sleeping soundly and comfortably in preparation for dawn's arrival.

Even so, the impertinent and ever so stubborn child had more than likely thrown off his safety blanket once his mother had taken to bed as well, and slipped down the dark halls until he was bathed in the glow of their porch light, hunkering down for a long and cold night that promised nothing but the flu or a fever in favour of waiting for his daddy to step through the threshold of the front door so that he could throw his full weight into his awaiting arms.

The poor, sweetly naive little boy; he must have been bouncing with anticipation once upon a time, before growing disheartened, and trading that feeling of hurt with the promise of deep slumber instead.

Fugaku felt a distinct pang ripple through his being, something he was assuming was close to the burden of a guilty conscience weighing him down, before he ceased thinking and mechanically made his way into the depths of his mansion-like dojo, eyes flickering to the closest clock and calendar that hung idly over the kitchenette's feature wall.

_3:07 a.m., Sunday, June 9th._

His eyes widened in surprise, before snapping back to the obliviously prone form resting his full weight in his father's arms.

As of today, his little man was five years old.

He had been so caught up in formalities that he had forgotten his baby's birthday in the process.

He would have to make up for this in every way he possibly could, he thought with a tender smile, before he carried Itachi into his bedroom, peeling back his doona in order to settle him comfortably in its depths.

He thought to walk away, but an impulsive notion flickered through his mind, one that he could not dissuade for the life of him.

So he surrendered to it, slipping between the sheets so that he was settled alongside his son, before he arranged himself in such a manner that he could deem comfortable, before he moved to brush the stray strands of hair from Itachi's cheek, pausing mid-motion when his son groaned softly, shifting his weight before stirring from his sleep, his eyes fluttering to a bleary open as he rested his drowsy gaze on his father.

He was very surprised to find himself in his bed, but even more so the source of his journey lying next to him like he had always been there. Like his absence had only been a nightmare concocted by his childish disillusionment, from his fear of abandonment.

"Daddy...?" Itachi whispered groggily, his vision hazy as he tried to shake the sleep from his mind and body. Fugaku merely hummed in response, continuing in his earlier action of brushing the velvety locks of his hair from his face as he observed his son's expression change from confusion to unadulterated bliss in an instant.

The little boy's wiry arms wrapped around his waist, clinging to the material of his yukata as he pulled himself in for a hug, Fugaku's arms immediately reciprocating the affectionate gesture with little reluctance whatsoever, holding the small child to him as closely as he could in order to close all gaps that could have existed between them.

There would be no more barriers, not today.

"Happy Birthday, Itachi." Fugaku intoned quietly, but with meaning, Itachi's grip tightening around the narrow set of his hips in response to his father's loving tone, before he nuzzled his face against the rigid muscles of his stomach, the creases and folds of his attire doing nothing to hide the precious boy's smile.

"What would you like today?" It was a casual question, but no matter the response, Fugaku was going to ensure that it would be made a reality, for nothing was too much for his son to ask for, and he would give _anything_ to see that golden smile of his shine on this special day.

Itachi paused, and Fugaku listened intently for a response.

And when it finally came, he could hardly withhold his silent tears, even if he had wanted to.

"I already got what I wished for. You came home, daddy, and that's all that I could ever ask for. Because I want us to be a family again, you, me, mommy and Sasuke."

"Sasuke?" Fugaku intoned hoarsely, burying his face in Itachi's hair and inhaling its wonderfully placid scent, all the while ignoring the wet trails seeping their way out of his eyes.

"That's what I think we should call my little brother. He's gonna be a strong warrior, like the Sandaime's father, and like daddy too. I can feel it. He'll protect the Uchiha, just like you do, daddy." Itachi stated firmly, the sleepy edge to his tone doing nothing to numb the conviction of his claim as he settled himself in the heat of his tou-sama's embrace.

Fugaku chuckled softly, running his fingers through Itachi's hair whilst swallowing the thick lump that had formed in his throat, winding the tasseled mess of mahogany around his palms as a means of distracting himself from the sudden surge of emotion that had coursed through him at his boy's words.

He couldn't have been more perfect in that moment.

"Oh really now? We might just have to run that over with mommy first, before jumping to conclusions."

Itachi stretched himself out like a happy kitten, knotting his legs with his father's, before yawning softly in the quietude of his room, his eyes drooping with his need for sleep. Fugaku followed his example, realising only then how utterly drained he really was.

"I don't think mommy... Will have.. A... Prob... Lem..." Itachi whispered softly, as if in fear for ruining the calming ambience of their surroundings, before he let his eyes fall to a silent close, Fugaku watching his face carefully before he pressed his lips to his little weasel's forehead, the kiss as quiet and gentle as his hidden heart full of nothing but nurturing pride and love and affection as he allowed his eyes to fall to a careful close as well.

Itachi's soft murmur the dying refrain that eased him into unperturbed slumber as well.

"I love you, daddy..."

He truly was the most precious thing he had ever set eyes upon, without question or doubt, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that this mindset would never change, even after his death had come and passed them both by.

But that is another story that is not yet meant to be told.

_That's my precious boy._

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**Ending Remarks: ...**

_Any and all reviews would be love._

_Thanks to those of whom decided to read through to the end._

_Ja._

~**R**i_n_

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